• Published 22nd Jan 2013
  • 32,247 Views, 1,224 Comments

School of Hard Knocks - Hoopy McGee



Big crimes go to big ponies to solve. Small crimes? Those are mine.

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Shadows in the night

I did what I had to do. And then I flushed the toilet, washed my hooves and dried them on a nearby towel.

I left the bathroom while stifling a yawn. I was making my way back to Plum’s room when something on the edge of hearing caused my ears to perk up. I stopped in the dark hallway, swiveling my ears around, trying to pick up on whatever it was that I’d heard. Finally, I caught it: voices, coming from downstairs.

I recognized Mulberry’s voice and almost went back to bed, but something in her tone bothered me. I hesitated before making my way carefully down the gloom-shrouded steps to the first floor. As I descended into the darkness below, the voices became clearer.

As I got closer, I recognized what it was that bothered me about Plum’s mom’s voice. She sounded tense, uncomfortable. Maybe even scared. Something had her on edge and nervous, which meant that going back to bed wasn’t going to be an option.

Light spilled from the kitchen doorway into the dining room along with her voice, and it didn’t take me long to realize that she wasn’t alone. A stallion’s voice, muttering and hard to make out, responded to something she’d said.

The stallion’s voice was a nasal whine that drilled into my ear. I froze when I heard it, a scowl etching its way across my face. When Plum’s dad Tapioca was actually awake and talking, his voice was a smooth tenor. Whoever it was Mulberry was talking to, it wasn’t Plum’s dad.

For once, my small size was a blessing. As I crept my way into the dining room, I was small enough that my hoofsteps barely made any noise. My ears strained forward, catching every sound I could. I kept my breathing under control, trying to take shallow breaths so that the sound of my own breathing didn’t drown out the conversation I was trying to overhear.

“...don’t know about this,” Mulberry was saying to the mysterious stallion. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Figgy, but what you’re asking me to do...”

She trailed off, and the stallion, Figgy, started talking.

“I know, sis. But it’s really not that big of a deal.”

Now that I’d gotten a better listen to this stallion, I liked him even less. A combination of pathetic wheedling with an underlying forcefulness. Begging and pushing at the same time. No stallion using that tone of voice was up to any good.

I crouched low to the floor and made my way under the table where we’d played our game a few hours earlier. The only light was the warm glow from the kitchen, casting the dining room in deep shadows as I moved, unseen.

“It kind of is,” Mulberry replied softly.

“C’mon, Mully. It’s really not,” Figgy said nasally. “It’s gonna get through customs anyway. I’m just asking for you to... well, to hurry things up.”

“I don’t...”

Figgy wasn’t about to let Mulberry get her hooves under her. He talked on top of her, and she trailed off, uncertain. “It ain’t a big deal. It’s just some coffee and tea and herbs and stuff from Zebrica, that’s all. They pass this stuff through all the time, but my boss is losing out on business while it’s sitting in customs. All you gotta do is just stamp it approved, it gets moved to the loading docks, and we come and pick it up. Easy-peasy.”

I knew from Plum that her mother worked at Hoofington International Shipping. And I knew that what this Figgy character was pressuring her to do was a felony. A growl started to rise in my throat before I managed to clamp down on it.

I slid on my belly like a snake until I could see between the legs of the chair closest to the kitchen. Now I could see them without being seen myself. And I didn’t like what I saw, not one bit. My eyes narrowed as I took in the scene.

The stallion in question was a crusty brown, his unkempt and greasy black mane jutting out from under a dirty, rumpled fedora. With the pencil mustache on his muzzle and the crowbar cutie mark on his flank, it was as if he’d gone out and grabbed every petty criminal stereotype he could lay his hooves on.

He was a skinny stallion with toast-rack ribs, but he was still bigger than Mulberry. His chest was puffed out to try and make himself seem even bigger. That, combined with his general twitchiness, was a sure sign of a small-time player pretending he was in the big leagues.

As for Mulberry, the purple mare was backed into a corner of her own kitchen, looking away from this “Figgy”, her mouth set in a tremulous line and her eyes on her hooves. She wasn’t “Mulberry the mom” now. She wasn’t the confident mare that she was when she was running her household or greeting Plum’s friends. She was the mare I’d seen before in the market. The mare that was unsure of herself. The mare with her ears drooping down and who couldn’t look another pony in the eye.

The mare who was a pushover.

“I can’t,” Mulberry said, a hint of pleading whine in her voice. “I don’t even have any way of knowing which one it is.”

“Easy enough, it’s the big orange crate from Zebrica,” Figgy said with a snort of laughter. He picked up a piece of paper from the counter and tried to give it to her. “The tracking number and everything is right here.” Mulberry shrank away from the paper as if it were on fire. The stallion sighed and put it back on the counter.

“We’re gonna pay you for your trouble, right?” he said, frustration starting to leak through the veneer of friendly persuasion. “I know you can use the money. For my brother. His doctor bills are getting crazy-high, right? And he’s on suspension, so they ain’t even paying him right now like they should.”

My teeth were hurting. I forced myself to relax my jaw. I had to find out what was going on in order to stop it. That didn’t mean I had to like it.

“No... I... Please, don’t ask me to do this,” Mulberry moaned, shuffling her front hooves nervously. “I could get fired...”

“They’ll never know,” Figgy said in a voice that oozed confidence and comfort. He could sense what I did: Mulberry was about to crack. “And, if you ain’t gonna do it for me, or for Tapioca, how about for little Plum?”

Mulberry’s breath caught in a little sob, and I knew he had her. One more little push was all it would take. But I’d been on a low boil already, and this damned weasel had just turned the heat up.

The legs of the chair groaned and stuttered across the floor as I shoved it aside and stood up. The ponies in the kitchen jumped at the sound, shockingly loud in the otherwise quiet house. I stalked forward, my limbs shaking in a rage I could barely contain as I moved to the kitchen. The two of them stared at me, but I had my eyes set on only one of them.

I stood in the doorway where the light faded into the dark, my unbound mane spread out in a golden halo around my head. Red tinted my vision as I looked into Figgy’s surprised brown eyes. I wanted to kick the living daylights out of him. I wanted to bust my hoof off in his dock. I wanted to break his crooked teeth and shove them down his throat.

“Ah, can we help you little filly?” Figgy asked pointedly, condescendingly. “We’re kinda having a grown-up conversation, here.”

My rage solidified into a lump of ice in my chest. Grown-up. Dammit.

It hit me then that I couldn’t do any of those things I wanted to do to him. The stallion towered over me and, skinny as he was, there was no way I could take him down. And even if I did, it wouldn’t stop the threat to Mulberry. I’d get kicked out, and he’d just come back.

I wasn’t a threat to him, not like this. I was a bad joke in pink. I needed time. I needed a plan. I needed evidence, and I needed leverage. I grit my teeth and throttled my rage as best I could.

The first thing I needed to do was get him out of here, away from Mulberry. Then I could plan on how to keep him away.

How to do it came to me in a flash. Everypony has their buttons. Push on the right ones, and you can make all sorts of things happen. And twitchy Figgy’s buttons were as obvious as daylight to me right now.

I closed my lips over my bared teeth but I kept the scowl. And then I did something that would haunt me for the rest of my days.

“I need a drink of water!” I announced loudly in my best Lemon Squeeze impersonation. Don’t mind me, I’m just a thirsty little filly up past her bedtime. Never mind the rage boiling behind my eyes, catching my thoughts on fire.

Figgy snorted, annoyed. “Get the kid a glass of water, sis, and we’ll continue our talk once she goes back to bed.”

There was a breakfast nook in the kitchen. I shoved myself onto the bench by the little table while Mulberry pulled down a glass of water. She gave it over to me and some slopped over the side as her hoof trembled.

I picked up the water. I brought it slowly to my muzzle, tipped it back, and took the smallest sip I possibly could. Then I sighed with satisfaction, “Aaah!” I repeated the process. Sip. Swallow. “Aaah!” Then again. And again. And yet again.

As I dragged out the water drinking, I saw with grim satisfaction that Figgy was about to explode with impatience. At a guess, he’d been working on Mulberry for a while. I’d sapped his momentum. And the longer I took, the more work he’d have to do to get her back to the breaking point. I watched the stallion’s frustration build to the breaking point.

“Come on, kid, hurry it up!” he said to me. My eyes bored into his. I took another sip, never breaking eye contact, then swallowed. I skipped the satisfied sigh this time, instead placing the glass deliberately on the table. Mulberry was flicking her eyes rapidly back and forth between me and Figgy.

I stretched my mouth in a hard grin. “Can I have a sandwich, too, Missus Pudding?” I asked, as sweetly as I could.

“Oh, come on!” Figgy swelled up with anger, and suddenly he was looming over me. “Get your ass back to bed, you little shit!”

“Figgy!” It was the push she needed. Mom-Mulberry was back. “You do not swear at a child in my house!”

The stallion flinched, half-raising a hoof. He was either getting ready to hit or to defend, I couldn’t be sure which. “This brat is—”

“This filly is a guest in our house,” Mulberry said. “And you’re not. And it’s late. Maybe you should leave.” Figgy’s scrawny chest started expanding. “Now!” she said, her eyes crackling with lightning.

I was impressed. Figgy was beaten. He backed down like the coward I could tell he was. Grumbling, he made his way out the front door. Mulberry watched him go. I heard the door close and looked over at Plum’s mom. She was staring into the darkness, worry written large across her face.

“Don’t do it,” I said to her. She jumped a little when I talked, shaken out of her thoughts. Then she looked at me, eyes wide. “He’s asking you to help him smuggle something through customs, right?”

Her breath caught as her back legs wobbled. She steadied herself with a hoof on the counter.

“You heard that, huh?” she asked, smiling nervously.

“Yeah. I did. And, sorry.”

“For what?” she asked.

I didn’t answer at first. Instead, I just looked at her.

“It’s breaking the law,” I told her. “You could lose your job, end up in jail. What would happen to Plum then?”

Mulberry’s eyes welled up with tears, and I felt lower than the bottom of a rusted-out horseshoe. It was the same tactic Figgy had used, using her daughter against her. But I had to make sure she knew the stakes. Plum had a hard enough life as it was with her dad out of work. If her mom ended up in prison, Plum would likely end up in the system, bouncing from foster home to foster home.

“Sorry,” I said again. She shook her head. “I take it he’s family?”

“Brother in law,” she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “He... He wasn’t always like this. He was Tapioca’s best man at our wedding. But he started running with a bad crowd...”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. I drank more water, then set the glass down. “Look, he’s a grown stallion. What he does is his own business and responsibility. What happens to your family is yours. Don't let his bad decisions make your life any harder.”

She smiled at me. “You’re a wise filly, you know?” I hadn’t bothered telling her about really being a stallion. Plum hadn’t, either. Probably worried that her mom wouldn’t let her play with the “crazy filly” if she did.

“Yeah, full of wisdom, that’s me.” I tipped her a wink. “Or at least I'm full of something.”

She gasped in shock, and then a fit of giggles hit her. I recognized post-stress laughter when I saw it and just smiled as she worked through them. As she wound down, I could see the after-effects of her confrontation with Figgy melting away.

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that, young lady,” she said in her mom-voice, with just a hint of laughter to let me know that she wasn’t too serious. “I... I’m glad Plum has a friend like you.”

I blinked at her, surprised. “Uh. Yeah, thanks,” I said. Suddenly I wasn’t sure at all what to do with my front hooves. I ran them over the smooth table top. “Hey,” I said, as something Figgy had said floated back to the surface. “What was that about Tapioca being suspended?”

Mulberry frowned.

“I’m not surprised Plum didn’t tell you,” she murmured. “It’s... Well, he was under investigation before he got sick. Several missing items of Zebrican cultural significance disappeared from his latest expedition. I believe him when he says he didn’t take them. He’s not the type. But... well, the Society isn’t so sure.”

“So, he’s stuck at home without pay,” I said. She nodded.

“Or medical coverage,” she added. “That’s one reason I’m glad Plum has a friend like you. I don’t think you care that... well, that we’re having trouble.”

“‘Course not,” I said. I thought of home. “Every family has troubles. That’s part of what make’s ‘em families.”

She smiled at me and ruffled my mane. I put up with it.

“Like I said, you’re a wise filly.” She looked at the clock on the wall, and I did too. It was almost two in the morning. “And it’s way past your bedtime, little girl,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, though I wasn’t tired at all.

I scooted off of the little bench by the table and started making my way out of the light of the kitchen.

“One last thing,” I said before I left the light.

“Yes?”

“Figgy said that if you did this that they’d never know.” I looked her square in the eye. “Prisons are full of ponies who thought the same thing. They were as wrong as he is.”

She gave me an odd look. A measuring look, then she nodded.

“‘Night, Mrs. Pudding,” I said.

“Good night, Cinnamon.” She hesitated, then added, “And thank you.”

I flashed a smile at her over my shoulder. “No problem.”

By the time I got back upstairs, my night vision had mostly returned. I was able to navigate my way through the bundles of sleeping fillies on the floor until I reached Plum’s bed.

When I got there, I had to snort with laughter. Plum had been scrunched up against the wall before, but now the little purple filly was sprawled over most of the bed. Which was fair enough, I supposed. She’d slept half the night with me hogging the bed, now it was my turn.

I crawled in under the covers, and Plum mumbled something and then said, “Where were you?” in a sleepy voice.

“Bathroom,” I replied quietly.

“Oh.” She yawned and rolled over, giving me more room. “G’nigh, Ci’mon,” she murmured.

“‘Night, Plum.” I said back.

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling of Plum’s bedroom. Sleep eluded me like a ghost as my thoughts chased each other in circles 'round my head. I played back the conversation between Plum’s mom and uncle in my head, and added in what I now knew of her dad and his suspension.

Somepony was trying to smuggle something through customs. I felt like I had a good idea what it might be: the object that Tapioca had been blamed for taking. The coincidence was too large to ignore. The only question I had was whether or not Tapioca was involved. It seemed possible, maybe even probable.

The right thing to do was to tip off the local police anonymously. They’d deal with it. And, if Plum’s dad was innocent, then he’d be cleared of all charges...

The thought trailed off in my head. I’ve always had a tremendous faith in the Equestrian justice system. But sometimes innocent ponies got caught up in the machinery and could end up serving jail time for things they didn’t do. It’s something we never talked about, but it’s something every police pony knew could happen.

Coincidence could be a terrible thing when it worked against you. I knew that from personal experience.

My thoughts kept on spinning. I thought of the investigation, and what it was likely to turn up if I called in that tip. I thought of Plum’s eager grin. I thought of Mulberry’s shy smile, and her quiet confidence that her husband was innocent. I thought of what it would do to the two of them to watch as Tapioca was carted off to prison, still sick from whatever it was that he’d picked up in Zebrica.

I had to start with the presumption of innocence, even when my gut told me that Tapioca was almost definitely involved. But I couldn’t ignore Figgy and his outright pressuring of Mulberry to commit a crime. My duty as a police pony...

I sucked in a breath, my mind flinching away from that thought. A police pony. I realized that I still thought of myself as one, even now, even after all I’d been through. But I wasn’t a police pony. Not really, not anymore. I forced myself to face the idea. I was surprised by how much it hurt.

I was a civilian. A filly civilian, if you wanted to get right down to it. I stared at Plum’s ceiling for a few minutes longer, the white paint seeming grey in the darkness. Then I got out of bed once again.

My hooves didn’t make a sound as I made my way back down the staircase. I left the lights off, the moonlight through the windows guiding my path as I made my way back into the kitchen.

Figgy’s shipping manifest was still on the counter, right where he’d left it. I had to stand on my hind legs with my front hooves on the cabinetry in order to reach it. I picked it up with my mouth, the dry taste of paper and the sharp taste of ink on my tongue as I made my way carefully back up to Plum’s bedroom.

The right thing to do. I wasn’t even sure I knew what that was anymore. All I knew was that I couldn’t send Plum’s dad to prison without at least checking things out for myself.

I stowed the paper in my saddlebag and went back to bed, stepping carefully around the sleeping fillies, trying not to wake them or step on them. As I got back in next to Plum, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink, that my whirling thoughts would keep me up the rest of the night.

I was wrong. Two minutes later, I was out like a light.

Author's Note:

Thanks to Merlos the Mad for pre-reading this chapter!

Things take a slightly dramatic turn, here. This is where the story I originally envisioned really gets started. It's not all about dealing with schoolyard bullies! Though, naturally, we haven't seen the last of Vanilla Sweet and Ivy.